Strange Squared
by Sardixiis
Summary: My name is McKenzie Campbell. My family is strange. Not a little strange, a lot strange. Life at my house is pretty skewed toward the high end of the strangeness scale normally, but it's about to go almost off the charts. Too bad my parents keep everything to themselves.
1. Chapter 1

**Strange Squared**

Chapter One

My parents are weird. I've known that for a long time and have come to accept it and almost embrace it. Sure, every kid thinks their parents are weird, especially at thirteen. Jack's dad listens to the strangest music and dances like he has no self-respect. Tom's parents decorated their entire kitchen with cow decorations. _Cows. _Cow print towels, cows on their mugs, a cow oil painting. Even their dish scrubber is a cow. Not denying that that is weird. It totally is. And it kind of creeps me out.

My parents are just weird in a different way. A way that nobody else can even hold a candle to.

My parents are some kind of secret government agents. I'm sure of it even though they've never told me. How can I be so sure? A few reasons. One, I asked them once. Completely came out and said, "You're both secret agents, aren't you?" one night during dinner. Neither of them batted an eye. Mom's fork didn't even pause half a second on the way to her mouth. Of course they denied it completely and gave me the typical line. Mom works for the World Bank and Dad is in politics. Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Their reactions were too normal. No shock, no surprise. I was pretty sure that wouldn't be the response any other parent would have if their kid just asked a question like that out of the blue. So, I used some of the stuff we learned in science class. The whole, create a hypothesis, test the theory stuff. I asked two of my best friends to ask their parents the same thing. It was like I'd figured. Their parents all stared in shock or laughed like the question was ridiculous. They all asked where their kid came up with that crazy idea. Mine? Mine just discounted it as unimportant.

Second, they have some really weird work hours. When I was little it bothered me that at any point in the evening one of them could simply need to leave. No warning and no real explanation. Usually their departure was preceded by a phone call. When I was younger I accepted the lies that went along with the sudden disappearances. Now, while I don't question them, I don't believe them either. It's one of the things I've learned from my parents, I guess. I know when to keep my mouth shut. We're not a really big sharing family.

Then there's the whole safety situation. Most kids when they're little learn what to do in a fire and where to go. They know the safest room in the house to hide in when there's a tornado. When it comes to emergency numbers their own and 911 are the important ones. Me? I learned what to do if my parents didn't come home one day. I learned who to call if I felt like I was in trouble and something didn't feel right. Not the "I'm lost and don't know where to go" kind of trouble. Not the "some kid is picking on me" kind either. They were talking about the serious variety of trouble. The life threatening kind. Totally normal, right? Yeah.

Oh yeah, and the lying. Not their lying. Mine. I'm a really good liar. Probably not something I should brag about, but whatever. I know it's true, and it's come in handy on more than one occasion. Of course no matter how good of a liar I am, I can't get past them. Most parents are good at picking out when their kid is lying. Mine are more than good. They're freakishly, unerringly, ingrained lie detector test good. At least when it comes to me. I haven't had much of an opportunity to see how well they do with other people. Well, except some of my friends and even I can usually tell when they aren't telling the full truth.

Lastly, and most importantly, I'm their son and I live with them. I count myself as pretty observant. I know how to read both of my parents, at least to a certain extent. Everything they do is really tiny, but I picked it out a few years ago. It's like they can silently communicate with the subtlest facial movements. Even surprise, anger, nervousness are communicated in minute changes when they want to hide something from me. Unfortunately that's pretty often, so I've gotten real good at picking them out. Maybe that makes it fortunately. I don't know. I've been working on cracking the code they sometimes use when they're talking to each other about something I assume is work related and I'm in the room. It's not like a stupid little kid's code that everyone knows is a code. Like with everything else, my parents are more subtle than that. They simply leave out a lot and assume the other can fill in the blanks. Sometimes they're busy discussing something that makes sense, but I'm almost positive they're talking about something else entirely. There can't be that many questions about whether a package will arrive on time, yet they managed to have a really long conversation about it anyway.

They think I don't know. They think they've managed to hide their weirdness and convinced me that they definitely don't work for the government in some way. I let them believe it. Like I said, I know when it's worth it to bring something up and when it's better to just keep it to myself.

Lately things have been a little strange. Or _stranger_, I guess.

Mom and dad are really preoccupied tonight. Typically dinner in our house is full of conversation. Tonight most of that conversation is nonverbal between them. Dad tries to carry on the normal stuff with me, but it sounds forced. Maybe that's just because mom isn't joining in as often. She's quieter than usual. Of course that's not all that strange in itself. We've had a lot of dinners where mom's quiet. Dad less often, but he gets in those moods sometimes too. My eyes flicker back and forth between them like I will somehow be able to read the odd tension there. I know what it feels like when they're fighting, and this just doesn't seem like that kind of tension. Something else is going on. I don't ask though since they wouldn't tell me even if I did. Instead I sit and watch, carefully, so they won't realize that's what I'm doing. Mom's only picking at her food, and when Dad wanders past her into the kitchen he rests a hand on her shoulder briefly. It's not much, but it's enough to confirm my suspicions.

My mind is reeling the rest of the night as I try to figure out what could be causing this change. It's a good thing I finished my homework hours ago. I never would be able to concentrate on it now. They're pretty distracted, so I'm curious how much attention they are paying to me and the time. If I don't do anything to indicate that it's my bedtime and don't draw too much attention to myself, I may be able to say down here longer. It totally doesn't work. Even distracted, Mom is way too on top of things. She kisses the top of my head like always and sends me off to bed. On the way to the stairs I pass my dad's office. He's on the phone, his face creased in concern. Before I can stand there watching he spots me and presses the phone to his chest, silencing the person on the other end and pausing the conversation.

"Night, Mick."

"Night, Dad," I call back and trudge up the steps.

I can hear the deep tones of his voice again, muffled and quiet, before I get up three steps. When I reach the top of the stairs I get ready for bed and close the door to my room. My parents can send me upstairs to bed, but they can't actually make me sleep. Even if they could I'm not sure I'd be able to anyway. My head is still spinning. I lie there, arms tucked behind my head, and think. Hours pass, and I'm still not really tired. No, that's not right. It's more like I'm tired, but I can't fall asleep. Just as I break down and decide to try, really try, to relax I hear the quiet creak of weight on the stairs. My parents are going to bed. Slowly I slip out of my own bed and edge toward the door. I'm supposed to be asleep, but if I'm quiet they won't find out that I'm not and I could learn something.

The creaking on the steps stops, but I don't hear footsteps. They paused on the landing.

"Arthur…"

My mother's voice, quiet and pained. I rarely hear it sound like that. Concerned. Weak. That's not my mom.

"It's going to be fine, Joan. Come on."

"What did he say?"

Now there are footsteps, and as they head toward their room I lose their voices. Slowly, very slowly, I turn my doorknob and open the door a crack. I press against the open space and strain my ears as hard as I can. It doesn't help very much. I still can't hear the words, but at least I can make out the tone of their voices. They both sound worried, almost anxious. I swallow hard and pull my door shut again.

I was right. Something is definitely going on.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

My dad decides to drive me to school the next morning. It's just one more thing to add to the "strange" category. My parents rarely drive me to school. Typically I walk down to the bus. We chat, dad and I, on the way down to school. He's grinning and teasing me like always. I don't think we've ever had a conversation alone that hasn't at least had one "Don't tell your mother" in it. This one is no exception. I try to relax a little. Maybe this just happens to be one of the days he can go into work late. It's always been a bit of a treat to have them drive me. I have to admit, I enjoy it. Spending time alone with my dad where we can laugh and have fun, even if it's only for a short car ride, is awesome. They're so busy that I've learned to relish every chance I get. As we get close to school I yank my backpack from the floor between my legs and drop it on my lap so I can slip one arm through a strap.

"Just drop me off on the corner, Dad."

"On the corner? It's not that much farther. I can drop you off right in front."

I roll my eyes at him.

"Yeah, and everyone will see me. I can walk from here. That's what everybody does."

A tiny wrinkle appears between his eyes. Normally Dad gets stuff like that. I don't have to try to explain it like I do with Mom. We've had this discussion before, but apparently we are going to need to have it again. I'm not sure why he suddenly thinks I'm not capable of walking the rest of the way. Maybe this trip _isn't_ a coincidence. He looks worried about me. Like he's afraid something is going to happen between the car and school if he's not with me every second of the way. I don't get it. Well, I do, sort of. I know something is up, but when that something hasn't been discussed in any way it's hard to be fully understanding when he acts differently. Just because something might be wrong doesn't mean I'm going to let him drive me to the actual door though.

"Mickey…"

"Dad, it's like one block. I'm thirteen. I think I can handle walking that far on my own."

Then I add in a "Jeez" for good measure. It works. He pulls over at the corner to let me out.

"Have a good day."

"Yeah," I call back without bothering to look at him as I climb from the car.

I start toward the building only to realize my dad hasn't moved yet. Immediately I stop dead and swivel to face him. I cross my arms firmly over my chest and glare at him. I've inherited a lot of things from my parents. My mom's blue eyes and blond hair. My dad's waves, though in my hair they are closer to curls. I even have my dad's charming smile, which he insists, combined with my looks, will make me a major heartthrob when I get older. One other thing I inherited, and the most important at this moment, is my mother's glare. It works wonders. Dad flashes me a beaming smile, trying to act innocent, waves, and pulls away. I shake my head at him and continue along the sidewalk with everyone else making the trek toward first period. My thoughts shift back to where they were last night instead of today's geography test where they should probably be. I am absolutely, one hundred percent positive that something is going on with my parents. As I walk I don't pay attention to what's going on around me; I'm too focused on trying to solve this puzzle. The strap of my backpack keeps sliding off my shoulder, but that happens so often that I nudge it back up without a thought. It's good I can do that because I don't have any extra thought to spare. When you don't have enough pieces to actually complete a puzzle you need as much creativity as possible.

And then my backpack suddenly stops moving. Not, "miraculously stays on my shoulder" stops moving. It stops moving with me so suddenly that I'm yanked backward and off balance.

"MICKEY!"

I was so distracted that I hadn't even realized Jack had been calling my name and trying to get my attention. Considering the drastic measures he'd just taken, he had probably been trying for a while. Oops.

"Hey, Jack."

"Where were you, man?"

"Geography test," I lie smoothly.

"Like you need to be worried about it. You ace everything," he grumbles.

He's right. Almost every subject we have comes easily for me, though I could live without the choir class. Most of the kids in my grade hate geography. Jack's one of them, except that he _really_ hates geography. He thinks it's hard and boring and useless. I would probably agree if my parents hadn't traveled to a lot of the places we learn about. It makes it a lot easier to memorize a location on a map when you're discussing a trip they took once. Hearing their stories makes it a lot more interesting too. My parents being weird do have a few benefits.

I shrug.

"There are a lot of rivers. I want to make sure I know them all."

Again, it's a stretching of the truth if not an outright lie, but he buys it. I've never talked to either of my friends about my suspicions except for that one time I'd asked them to accuse their parents of being secret agents. They would think I was being ridiculous even if I did run through all the proof. According to them there is absolutely no way my parents are cool enough to do something like that. If I didn't live there and experience it all myself, I would probably agree with them. For now I box the subject up in my head and try not to think about it. I need to start focusing on school or my teachers could catch me drifting. I turn my full attention to Jack's continued grumbling about geography. It's actually kind of funny, and I don't even bother trying to hide my smile.

By sixth period lunch he's still going on about the test even though we had it three periods ago. Now though he's added something new to his repertoire: I failed it for sure. I understand why he thinks that. The test was long and miserable, even for me. I'm pretty sure I at least did decently on it though. Tom's joined in cursing the test too. Apparently he didn't even finish the last page. Ouch. That sucks. I'm not surprised about that either. Tom isn't the fastest test taker. He worries about tests too much. I don't add much to their discussion. Everything I had to offer was covered in the first five minutes. They both know I did okay, even if we haven't seen the results, so it's not like I can join in the "I failed" party. Not that it's a major loss in my mind.

"What could be so interesting in a newspaper?" Nathan asked from the other side of the table.

All three of us stop talking and look at him.

"Where did _that_ come from?" Jack asks.

Nathan points toward the large cafeteria window, and I instantly see what he's referring to. There's a guy sitting on a bench across the street and reading a paper.

"Who even reads newspapers anymore?" Tom demands. "Everyone just goes online."

Jack and Nathan snicker. I just watch the guy more intently. As he goes to turn the page the paper drops a bit, revealing a navy blue baseball cap without a logo. I frown. That cap had just triggered something for me. Hadn't I seen it before? Earlier today? I stare at the guy and dig back through my memory to check. I'd been upstairs. In geography, that was right. I'd finished the test a little bit early and had been left to stare blandly out the window until the bell rang. I remember seeing a guy sitting across the street in his car checking a map. At the time I hadn't really thought much about it. Well, except for thinking the guy had to be majorly lost or going somewhere pretty far away. He'd had the map out for a while. Was it the same guy? I'm really not sure. Chances are it's not, and I'm just being paranoid because of my parents' sudden nervousness at home. Jack and Tom go back to their conversation about the test, but I keep watching the newspaper reader. Maybe I am just being paranoid, but if it is the same guy, I want to make sure I can recognize him again. Of course even if I keep watching him, the only reason I think I've seen him before is because of that hat. Without it, I wouldn't have any idea who he was.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

In the end it's not his baseball cap that I notice again. It's his truck. Nothing about it really stands out, but when you keep seeing the same car over and over again you notice. Or at least _I_ notice. It probably helps that I'm on high alert at the moment. Mom and dad are still hiding their unease, and I'm still trying to figure out what's causing it. If I go with my "secret agents" theory, which I am because it makes perfect sense, I have to assume something bad happened at work. Maybe that something bad even has to do with them. Like someone is after them. Okay, yeah, that's probably a little bit farfetched. But there's that truck…

I notice it parked a few houses down from ours the day after I saw it at school. Mom and dad aren't home yet, which is normal. I usually have a few hours by myself after school before they get here. Since I can barely see the truck from the window, I can't say for sure that it's the same one. There could be another silver pickup floating around. I want to be sure, and the only way to find out is to get closer and see if I can spot the guy.

I decide to take a quick bike ride.

My parents have seriously strict rules about what I can do when I'm home from school and they're not home yet from work. Riding my bike down the street is definitely not one of them. I'm supposed to stay inside. Not use the stove. Stay out of my dad's office. Not doing anything that could potentially burn the house down or get me killed. Going for a bike ride would risk burning the house down, but it could very well fit into the second half of that rule. I totally know that, and in any other situation I wouldn't even consider it. Probably. But this is worth the risk in my mind. As long as I get home before they do, they won't have to know that I disobeyed. Plus, I'm not completely careless. I'll go with someone else.

There's a small creek not far away that my neighbor and I visit all the time and throw rocks. When we were younger it was all about how far we could throw them and who made the biggest splash. We're a little bit more sophisticated now. We focus on aim, whether you can hit a specific rock or sink a leaf that's floating downstream. I call Tanner up, and he agrees to come with me. Whether he knows my parents aren't home and I'm not supposed to be out I have no idea, but it doesn't matter. I'm not going to tell him, and he already agreed to go.

We head down the street, and I purposefully bike slowly. When we get close to the truck I want to be able to get a good look at who is inside. If I could, I would probably stare at him and try to memorize his features. That would totally give me away though, and I'm no idiot. My best shot will be to try and glance at him a few times as we go by. Hopefully he won't notice I'm looking. If he does notice I'm kind of screwed, but he probably won't do anything since I'm not alone. At least that's what I tell myself.

It's one of the reasons why I brought a buddy aside from it looking more realistic.

As we pass by I let me eyes flicker over. It's him. I know it. I have no idea how I'm so sure since he's not wearing the baseball cap, but I know. It's just this strong feeling. I quickly turn my eyes away and focus on where we are going. Once we're past the truck though I risk one more look under my arm. I can see his sunglasses in the side view mirror. He's _watching me_. I grip my handlebars tighter to try and calm myself down. It's okay. You already knew he was watching you. He showed up at your school and now at your house. Who else could he be searching for? It's good reasoning, but it doesn't make me feel much better. Until I get back inside I'm going to have to keep half an eye out for him. Not that knowing he's coming will help me much. I know how to defend myself, but against a grown man? It would take a hell of a lot of luck to win that. Or even lose and still manage to escape. Would that count as a win or not? I can't escape him on a bike no matter how hard I pedal either.

There isn't anything to worry about though. Tanner and I only stay down by the creek for fifteen or twenty minutes. The guy in the truck never moved once. I take that as a good thing. On our way back I don't even bother looking at him. All it could do is get me into more trouble. When I get back home I put away my bike, lock the door behind me, and head to the table to do my homework. I have to get my work done before my parents get home so everything seems normal to them. That gives me about an hour and a half.

I finish with at least fifteen minutes to spare. Five thirty is the earliest they've ever come home. They could be home a lot later than that too. All I know for sure is I can expect them home before dinner time at seven. After putting my homework back in my backpack I take a quick look out the window. The truck is gone. I guess he doesn't want to risk being spotted outside by my parents either. Huh. Does that mean I'm going to tell my parents about him? Nope. Unless they specifically ask whether anything strange has been happening lately I'm not going to say a word. Not yet. That may not be the best idea, but I don't want them to think that I'm scared of the boogeyman or anything. This whole thing could all be in my head. I seriously doubt it, but it's better to be safe. Maybe this guy isn't even related to whatever is going on with my parents. If I bring it up, it will only make them more worried. They have enough going on as it is. There's no way I'm going to add to it. At least not until I'm good and creeped out. A part of me is screaming that I'm already good and creeped out, but I ignore it. For now I'm just going to keep an eye out for him to see if he comes back.

An hour later I hear a car pull into the garage. Apparently it's a late day. When the door opens I poke my head over the couch to see who's here. Typically my dad comes home first, though sometimes he and mom come home basically together. Today it's my mom that walks through the door. I frown. That's odd.

"Where's Dad?"

Her head snaps toward me with a bit more force than I think is necessary. Did I just scare her? My mom? No way.

"Mickey," she breathes like she has to reassure herself that it's only me. "He's working late tonight."

I frown more and don't even bother to try and hide it.

"Why?"

"Because he has to, honey. There's a lot going on at his office."

She comes toward me and runs her fingers through my hair. Usually I would bat her hand away, but today I don't. There are more creases around her eyes than I remember seeing. The worry is etched into her skin. Even her eyes reveal how apprehensive she is. They aren't piercing and cold like when she's upset or involved in some kind of debate with my father, and they aren't glittering and warm like when she lovingly looks at me or dad. I can't tell what they are before she turns them away from me and heads toward the kitchen. I push myself up farther on the couch so I'm kneeling on it and drape my arms over the back.

"Are you okay, Mom?"

She turns halfway and gives me a warm smile. It doesn't look fake, but I think it is anyway.

"I'm fine. Just a little tired."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, Mick. Now are you hungry?"

I beam back at her.

"Yup."

She smiles at me in return and almost laughs. This smile I'm sure is real. It lights up her entire face, including her eyes. Immediately she looks younger. Amazing how a good smile can do that to her.

"Of course you are. You're always hungry."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

For the next two days I see the truck guy, as I've come to think of him, at school and at home. He's still never there when my parents might be around. It's the one thing he's really careful about. Other than that I don't really think he's all that wary. If this guy as after my mom and dad or after me, he isn't very good. Then again, maybe he isn't trying too hard. I'm just a kid after all. Little does he know I'm not a normal kid. How can I be, with parents like mine? I know he's there, even if nobody else does, and I'm watching him.

Mom and Dad are just as worried as they were five days ago when I overheard the start of their whispered conversation at bedtime. They're still trying to pretend that everything is fine. I haven't called them out on it yet. If I do, they might become more protective of me. I have lacrosse practice today, and my friends and I always stop by this ice cream parlor that's next to the practice fields when we're done. Our parents pick us up from there. If Mom gets any more protective than she already is I may not be allowed to go. That would seriously ruin my Saturday.

On the way to practice Mom and I talk about school. She asks about my geography test, which I ended up getting an A- on, and the science fair project that I'm supposed to be starting to put together. I haven't decided on a topic yet, so we spend most of the ride trying to pick one. I want to do something cool, like with chemicals or fire. Mom refuses and threatens to ground me if I try.

I give her my most charming smile, complete with a touch of innocence.

"What if it's just a small fire?"

"What if I decide to ground you for the rest of the year?"

"You would have to watch me slowly wither away to nothing," I tease. "Being locked away in my room would totally inhibit my growth and development."

Mom shoots me a look.

"Nice try, Mister."

I shrug, totally unconcerned by her continued refusal. It isn't like I'd expected to win anyway.

"It was worth a try."

We reach the practice field soon after that, and she parks. I start gathering up all of my equipment and tossing it on the concrete outside. Mom sighs at me. She hates it when I'm so rough with my things, but considering what they all go through doing a practice or game being tossed on the ground is nothing.

"Where's my…?"

"Check under the seat," she answers before I can even finish the question.

I shove my hand under the seat and quickly find the missing lacrosse ball. No matter how often I lose it she always seems to know where it wound up. I have no idea how she does it.

"Thanks. I'll see you later," I say and close the car door.

"Try not to get any more crazy science fair ideas into your head during practice."

"What if I test the strength of different materials with a chainsaw?"

"Mickey," she warns darkly.

"Kidding!"

I take off toward the group before she can prepare for the lecture I'm sure she wants to give me.

There isn't time during practice to wonder about the science fair, what's eating my parents, or the truck guy. I need to focus on what I'm doing. During the last game I almost beamed Tom in the head with a pass. My aim has a lot to be desired. If I don't want to knock one of my best friends out next time we play, I need to practice. My coach seems to think so too, and he works us hard. By the time practice is over I'm exhausted and seriously looking forward to ice cream. I think I've earned myself some hot fudge to go with it too. Most of my practice shots on the net were relatively on target. Well, except that one that was so far off to the left that it went flying onto the next field. I'm not counting that one. It was a fluke.

Tom, Jack, and I grab our equipment and toss it into separate duffle bags. Mom has never understood why I don't just throw my ball in there on the way over from practice so I don't lose it. I could, I guess, but then I wouldn't be able to play with it as we drive. We throw our bags over our shoulders and head out. Halfway across the parking lot I notice. _He's_ here. The truck guy. In my shock I momentarily lose the thread of our conversation. When I pull myself together again they're still going on about practice. Good, I can use that to my advantage.

I jog two steps ahead of my friends and spin around so I'm facing them as I walk.

"Did you guys see Kenny's shot over Derik's head? It was like…"

I make almost a kamikaze airplane noise as I arc my arm up and back down in a replay of Kenny's amazing shot. They laugh, and I force myself to laugh along with them. It isn't all that hard if I just think about the look on Derik's face when it happened. I could have done all of this walking forward of course, but then I couldn't see the truck's plate number. This way I could look at it without actually looking like I was looking at it. Enough was enough. I was done with this truck guy. Showing up at my school and house is one thing, but lacrosse practice? I'm officially creeped out. Maybe even a little bit scared. Just a tiny little bit.

After I turn back around and slip into my spot between Tom and Jack I start running the letters and numbers through my head so I can memorize them. If I need to identify the specific truck I'll be able to now. I manage to hold the plate number in my mind until we order our ice cream. The return of the truck guy and remembering his license might have become the most important thing of the moment, but I didn't forget that I'd earned myself some hot fudge for such a good practice. It doesn't cost much more, so I have enough money to add it to my usual chocolate chocolate chunk. As long as I make sure I wipe the evidence from my face, my parents will never know.

I'm a good memorizer, but I don't want to take any chances here. Once I get my receipt I ask for a pen and quickly jot everything down on the back before cramming it into my pocket. My friends are so engrossed in their ice cream that they don't notice what I did. Good. I drop into a seat next to them and dig into mine. It's an amazing combination: hot fudge and cold ice cream. I might just need to lick the empty bowl when I'm done. Wouldn't want to waste any.

When my mom picks me up I'd already made up my mind to talk to her and Dad when we got home. The problem is I don't know how to start the conversation. It's not like I could just come right out and ask, "Are you worried that some guy in a truck might be after me? Because he's been following me around for days." That would go over really well. I try to come up with someone for the entire ride back but end up empty. Mom notices, I think, but she doesn't ask. Maybe she just thinks I'm trying to figure out my science fair project. At least I'll have more time to myself to think while I'm cleaning up. Maybe some spring clean soap will give me miraculous inspiration.

* * *

_Author's Note: Just one chapter left after this everybody! Hope you like it!_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

I start the shower running and grab some clean clothes before I realize I'm out of fresh shorts. While I could always throw a pair of khaki shorts on, I'd rather something more comfortable. I toss what I have onto the counter in the bathroom and head downstairs again to fish out a pair from the clean laundry. It would make sense to bring the whole basket up with me so I can put the clothes away, but that can wait. It's not like Mom's complained about me not doing it yet. I'm on the way into the laundry room when I hear them talking.

"They still haven't found him?"

"No, but we will," my father assures. "I promise, Joan."

"You realize that he blames us, right?"

"I realize that, and I know the full implications of it as well. We'll find him."

My mom looks close to tears as my dad holds her arm and strokes his thumb across her cheek. I don't think I've never seen my mom cry before or even look like she was close to crying. It makes me really uneasy. If whatever is going on is bad enough to almost make Mom cry, I need to know what it is. I think I have a _right_ to know what it is too.

"Find who?" I ask.

Both of their heads swivel toward me. Mom's eyes widen in shock while Dad's narrow slightly in curiosity. Or anger. Probably more anger. I did just eavesdrop on them.

"Mickey what are you doing down here? You're supposed to be showering."

She sounds accusing, but I just ignore her. There's something more important to talk about. This is my opportunity to tell them.

"You mean the truck guy?"

Both of them blink. Mom tips her head to the side and her eyebrows draw together. She has no idea what I'm talking about. From the look on Dad's face he doesn't either. I guess the truck guy did manage to keep himself hidden from them.

"Truck guy?" Dad repeats in confusion.

"Yeah, the truck guy. I've seen him around a lot."

Their eyes meet, and I know they're doing that silent talking thing they're so good at. Probably trying to figure out how to answer my question, so I wait. If they decide to answer my question. I hope that they do even if I'm pretty sure they won't. Finally they turn to look at me again.

"Come here, Mick," Dad tells me gently. "Sit down."

He motions to the couch and then pauses. His eyes sweep over me one more time, and he changes his mind. I'm a mess, and they don't like me sitting on the couch after practice when I'm still in my dirty clothes. Immediately he changes course and heads to the kitchen instead. Those chairs can't be destroyed as easily. Mom and I follow after him. She keeps watching me out of the corner of her eye, and it makes me nervous. I sit down and look up at both of them. Dad begins first.

"Tell me about this truck guy, son."

I shrug like it's no big deal even though I know it is, especially now that I can see how concerned they are about it. I'd wanted to tell them about him before and now I have the chance.

"I've seen him around school and our house. Watching me, I think. He was at lacrosse practice today."

"Have you seen his face?"

"Yeah. He's younger than you. Maybe forty? Brown hair. Nothing really specific about him. Except that he was kind of ugly."

Dad nods like this is exactly what he expected, even the ugly part. I'd added that in just to see what kind of response I would get. It isn't exactly amusing like I had hoped. I don't even get a smile. It kind of stinks when your teasing jokes don't get acknowledged. I don't have much time to be disappointed though.

"What kind of truck?" Mom presses.

"Silver pickup."

She frowns and looks at Dad. He doesn't look any happier with the answer than she does. In fact, he only looks more confused. Is the truck guy not the guy they were just talking about? My heart sinks a little bit.

"He could be using a different vehicle," Mom reasons, her eyes still on dad.

Instantly I feel lighter. She thinks it could be the same person.

"Maybe," Dad agrees. "It's worth checking into. Of course there would be a lot of silver pickups to go through. I'm not sure we could find the connection, even with a lot of eyes."

"I have the license plate number."

Their heads swing toward me again, even more surprised this time. It's like they totally forgot I was even sitting there. I grin and pull the now crumpled receipt out of my pocket. Dad plucks it from my fingers and looks down at my clear block writing. Neither of them say anything, so I continue.

"It's a DC plate."

"Mickey, you're a genius!" Dad exclaims. "I need to call this in."

He stands, ruffles my hair, and vanishes down the hallway. I turn to look at mom and find her smiling warmly at me. I can see the pride in her eyes and can't help looking down and rubbing the tip of my shoe against the floor. Sometimes I find it really hard to take her praise head on. She reaches out and strokes my hair, and I look up at her. Some of the pride in her eyes is now replaced with something else. Something soft and sad. Worry maybe? I guess that would make sense. Between my parents, Mom is the more protective one, so it would make sense that she's worried. Someone's basically been following me around and spying on me for days.

"When did you first notice?"

"At school on Wednesday."

She doesn't look like she likes that answer. Wednesday was kind of a long time ago. As I watch her face I see a tiny flash of terror emerge. It darts across her eyes and quickly disappears back into the bottomless pit that is my mother. If I saw it though, it means she's seriously scared. Beyond seriously scared. _For me. _Except I'm fine, and she has nothing to worry about.

"He didn't try to approach you?"

"No."

She nods and keeps brushing my hair out of my face. I can't tell what she's thinking. Probably that she's glad I'm safe and that this guy didn't use me to get to them. Or something. I really want to know who he is and why he was following me. Before I can ask her Dad walks back in, a wide smile on his face.

"I think the agency needs to start a file on McKenzie Campbell."

"He's thirteen, Arthur. Nobody ever gets a file until at least high school. Even when someone shows a lot of potential it's more likely college."

Dad laughs, his eyes totally lighting up. Mom is smiling at him in return like she thinks this whole thing is amusing too. Something big is going on here.

"I'd honestly be surprised if they didn't have one on him already."

I pause to think for a couple of seconds and try to process what I just heard. The agency might be starting some kind of file I me because I have some kind of potential, probably related to what has happened the last few days. The agency? So they do work for the government somehow! Nowhere else is referred to as the agency. I try to suppress my smile. I am totally right about them. They've never spoken openly about it before or been this careless. Maybe they didn't want to hide it anymore. Except, they were talking about it like I already knew. So they hadn't believed they'd fooled me! They'd known that I knew and just hadn't mentioned it.

Their eyes flicker to me and dance with light. I grin at both of them and decide to take a bit of a chance. They are being a little bit more open now after all.

"So you really are secret agents, aren't you?"

Their answers come together, word for word, in a perfect chorus. How the heck do they do that?

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

I can't help grinning even wider. The answer is total crap. They know it, and I know it. Well, fine. I already know the truth, and I can keep a secret.

* * *

_Author's Note - So I'm tempted to write another little fic like this from Mickey's point of view. Maybe a Mickey, Joan thing where Mickey happens to be with Joan at the wrong time and finds out first hand what his mom's job is like. I don't know._


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